


Lung Capacity

by beadedslipper



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drugs Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Humor, John is not so secretly a human puppy dog, M/M, Romance, bossy!Harold, but not really, first tme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadedslipper/pseuds/beadedslipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold get into a sticky situation involving a symphony hall, a blow gun, and a shiny pink drug that lowers inhibitions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lung Capacity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArwenOak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenOak/gifts).



> ArwenOak won the prompt in Renter’s Agreement – correctly guessing that John was cooking Beef Wellington for Harold. In return she asked for the “drugs/aliens made them do it” trope. Here’s my version.
> 
> This is woefully overdue but I finally got it done. I hope you guys like it!

Harold hissed and clapped a hand to his neck.  He came away with a tiny feathered needle.

“Harold!” John exclaimed, wrapping incongruously gentle fingers around Harold’s wrist and pulling up so he could squint at the dart. A hint of luminescent pink liquid sloshed in the empty chamber.

“Who on earth uses a blow gun in this day and age?” Harold complained.

“I’ll let you know.” John’s growl was full of menace as he glared up at the shadowy figure of their cat-burglar watching them from the balcony of the New York Symphony Hall.

John took one step forward and was immediately stung – once – twice.  He staggered to one knee as a hot rush of heat and pleasure and lethargy filled his bloodstream.

“A double dose?  Really?”

“It’s probably because of your impressive size.”  Harold’s voice drawled the words ‘impressive’ and ‘size’ in a way that suggested he wasn’t talking about John’s height.

John turned to see Harold watching him with banked hunger, his eyes dragging up and down John’s body.  A spark of alarm overrode John’s instinctive pleasure at Harold’s perusal.  This drug was notoriously fast-acting.  If it was hitting Harold already – and so strongly – who knew what double the dosage would do to John?  The perp could wait for now.  He needed to get them somewhere safe.

Maybe if they caught a taxi or called Root – John wrinkled his nose – they could get back to the library, lock themselves in, then wait things out until –

Warm hands hit John’s chest, resting right over his pectorals and then kneading.  He looked down to see Harold looking at his abdomen with an expression of intense concentration.

“Harold?”

Harold looked up at John, focused, then a smile bloomed on his face.  He started to drag his hands down John’s torso, over his abs.  John quickly grabbed his wrists to stop him.  Harold tugged on his hands, whining frustratedly at the impediment.

“Harold, stop, think.”

“No John.  You stop.” Harold said imperiously.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want this.”

John hesitated long enough for Harold to get his hands free.  Instead of going for John’s abs again, Harold buried his fingers in John’s hair.  They both sighed simultaneously in satisfaction.  John bent himself almost double, tilting his head into Harold’s hands and letting himself be pet.  John’s brain was starting to go heavy and fogged and he was having trouble remembering why they shouldn’t be doing this right now, particularly when it felt so good.

“H-Harold – “ John nearly purred, turning his head into Harold’s caresses.  “We – we can’t.  You saw the scans Carter gave us – “

“I know what this drug does Mr. Reese.” Harold dug his fingers into the perpetually tense muscles of John’s shoulders, almost making John’s eyes roll back in his head.  “I just don’t care.”

“All I want,” Harold confided, “is to make you feel good.”

“This is – this is just the drug.  You – you don’t want to – oh,”

John’s knees went weak, already halfway to kneeling on the floor as Harold found a spot at the nape of his neck that made John’s blood sing.  Harold’s fingers found that spot and held, tight, controlling.

“You know that’s not true Mr. Reese.  This drug lowers inhibitions.  It doesn’t create impulses that did not previously exist.  Therefore, it also allows me to tell you that I do want to.  Very much.  That I have wanted to, for a very long time.” His fingers traipsed over the shell of John’s ear, before coming to rest on John’s pulse point.  “Based on your responses, I would say you feel similarly.”

John hummed.  If he had a tail it would be wagging.  “Answer me John.  Before we both lose the ability for coherent speech.”

“Seems like you’re doing okay.”

A stinging slap met John’s rump, sending a bone-deep shiver through his body.  “Oh god, yes Harold, more, please.”

“Get up.”  John didn’t move quick enough for Harold, who shoved at his shoulders.  “Up, up, up.”

“I’m already up Harold.” John rumbled, unfolding himself to his feet.

Harold’s fingers found his nipple through his shirt and pinched, just hard enough that John stiffened.  “While I normally appreciate your sense of humor Mr. Reese, I think that clever tongue of yours could be put to better use at this point in time.”

Harold pulled on John’s nipple so that he was forced to bend forward until their faces were on a level.  “Do you think you can be quiet for me from here on out John?”

John shuddered at the hard note in Harold’s voice combined with the softness in his eyes.  He never would have expected Harold to be – like this.  Maybe he should have, in the few fantasies he’d allowed himself, but a commanding Harold in bed was almost more than John could stand.

He nodded, barely.  Harold smiled, looking at John’s lips, and oh how John wanted that.  He swayed forward, feeling a little drunk.  Harold let him get close before he leaned back.

“Wait just a little longer Mr. Reese.  If we get started here I fear we’ll end up giving the angels a show.” He nodded towards the filigreed busts over the stage.

John was struggling to see why that was a problem, but he didn’t say so.  Harold wanted him to be quiet and Harold’s word was all.

Harold’s impatience flared again and he bullied John out of the amphitheater and into one of the secluded box rooms, shutting and locking the door and pulling the curtain until they were swathed in shadow.

There was no bed, the chairs were too small to be useful, but Harold was here, with John and with that look in his eyes.

“It’s not ideal I know.” Harold said, stepping close to John again.  He ran a hand from the hollow of John’s throat down the center of his torso.  “But I need you John.”

John’s adam’s apple bobbed with the need to reciprocate, to say _anything, whatever you need_ , or that _I need you too._   From the adoring look in Harold’s eyes, the sentiment got across anyway.

“You’re right of course.  We’ll find a way to make do.”

Harold kissed him then, finally.  John groaned with the force and heat of it, how immediately, unhesitatingly filthy it was.  His fingers burrowed into John’s hair, anchoring John’s lips to his, and thrust his tongue in when John gasped.  It took the feeling of soft cloth beneath his fingers for John to realize that he was clutching at Harold back and hips and shoulders, anywhere he could reach.

This could be the drug, making them so desperate, but it felt natural regardless.

Even if Harold hadn’t ordered John to be quiet, the drug had fully fogged John’s brain now.  He was far beyond words.  Harold, for all his eloquence earlier on, was not much better, ordering John against the wall with presses of his hands and nudges of his head and little whimpers of frustration that went straight to John’s cock.

John’s hands and feet felt large and too clumsy.  It was a simple thing to let Harold take control, opening their clothes just enough to take them together in a spit-slick hand.  That first touch, a combination of oversensitivity and Harold, sent flares and flash-grenades off behind John’s eyes.  Harold’s breath was hot and heavy on his neck, in the hollow of his throat, pressed together bodily as he worked them higher and higher.

Then, like a punch to the gut, they came within a breath of one another.  John’s eyelids peeled open to see Harold, standing as relaxed and loose as John had ever seen him, eyes closed and jaw slack in a goofy, pleased smile.  John was pretty sure he looked much the same.

Just like that, with the satisfaction of their repressed urges, the drug faded from their systems and reason began to return.  They both stared at each other, assessing, trying to fight through the haze of afterglow to see if the other was –

“Finally.” John couldn’t help but breathe.  The tension flowed right back out of Harold and his smile came back, loose and crooked and so utterly sweet that John couldn’t help but bend to kiss him.

Harold squeaked, then hummed and leaned into it.

“Might I suggest we move this to a more hospitable location?”

John nuzzled his agreement into Harold’s skin.

\---

“It was the oboeist.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Well who else has the lung capacity to use a _blow gun_?”

“She seemed so sweet.” John smirked.  “I kind of feel like we should thank her.”

It was Harold’s turn to raise a brow.

“Well can you honestly say we’d ever have gotten here on our own?”

Harold tilted his head, looking down at their entwined hands.  It made typing slower, but it was worth it.  He nodded.  “I’ll have flowers sent to her cell in Rykers.”

From his spot on the bed in the ridiculously expensive hotel room that Harold had reserved for the entire week, John laid back and smiled.  “You’re a class act Harold.”

**Author's Note:**

> When starting to write this I kept going back and forth between who should be drugged. John is the old standby, cuz he’s completely adorable and all desperate when he’s drugged. But loose-inhibitions Harold from Identity Crisis is both hilarious and endearing. The answer was obvious. Why not both? =)


End file.
